


Oaths

by Olos



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Autistic Frodo, Gen, slightly AU, this is more character+relationship exploration for Gandalf than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olos/pseuds/Olos
Summary: Slight AU (Bilbo adopts Frodo as a toddler, a famine made Frodo an orphan). Gandalf goes all soft and swears an oath to protect baby Frodo.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Frodo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir
Kudos: 11





	Oaths

**Author's Note:**

> Frodo is autistic now. Sorry, I make the rules :)

It is well known that one should not swear oaths. Especially the wise, and among some I am counted among them, to my humility-born chagrin.

But even the the wisest of the wise might, unable to hold up to the most potent potion of love, and fear of loss that freezes the soul in terror, that feels as if the loss of your treasure will bring about the most ultimate grief and guilt, succumb and swear one.

Thus is as I did, one early spring morning.

I was visiting Bilbo, my dear friend and once wholly unwilling companion, for the first time in a few years. In the meantime, his homeland had underwent a famine, leading to the orphaning of a nephew of his, a wee lad of perhaps about 2-3, by the growth standards of Men, and about 5-6 years gone from his mother’s stomach. Bilbo, being ever generous, and perhaps in need of something to consume his time, brought in the orphan after the famine ended and opted to raise him as his own child, seeing as Bilbo’s status as a bachelor left him with no way to have a child of his own.

Of course, Frodo, the boy’s name, did not come away from the famine unscathed. He was very short, and put on weight easily, leading him to be perhaps the roundest and squishiest toddler I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. He also was close to mute, his speaking skills delayed so that he spoke with phrases or words, or expressed himself with various babbles. He also came away with nightmares of some horror he would not, or had no words to express, and perhaps as a consequence of that horror, he sought out hugs and other snuggles to an incredible degree, oft climbing me or Bilbo to get into our arms if he deemed our reaction time unsatisfactory. 

On top of his climbing habit, he was not skilled with other social graces, eating with his hands, showing no signs of attention when I or Bilbo spoke to him, and was quite frequently very blunt even when Bilbo or I explained that that was quite rude. He also seemed to have a small capacity for sustained attention, even for a child, bouncing between activities as much as more than one a minute. Finally, Frodo fussed over things a usual child would not fuss over-metal spoons in his mouth, the feel of 2 or 3 plates in Bilbo’s cabinets, the feel of some of his shirts, especially those knitted from yarn, the noise and smells of the marketplace even when it was relatively calm-and might start crying even if nothing seemed to be wrong, and thus required soothing. His favorite ways of being soothed were tight hugs ,his hair being played with, or, if he could get to me, being turned sideways, upside-down and all around as I gently swung him around.

Despite all his quirks, Frodo was never a misbehaved child. He was endlessly curious, bold, expressive and even at that age his later propensity for kindness and love was showing through; in small gifts-a leaf, a snail, a small frog or toad, a sweet he had gotten from the market some days earlier, whatever he could get his pudgy hands on-and silently climbing into or onto Bilbo or I’s lap or chest if one of us was weeping, and remaining there, balled up like a curly haired cat, until the weeper had stopped, softly babbling his own soothing-sound, a soft “numnumnumnum…” that when uttered indicated his trust, his contentment and his love for those near him, a balm to any heart that knew, even if wracked sorely with fears or sadness.

The particular spring day of which I narrate was a chilly, half cloudy day, unloving of those who wished to stay warm. Of course, it was the day that Bilbo fell asleep watching Frodo, and I was away at the market. For some reason, Frodo decided to run away, or he simply toddled too far off and got lost, but when I got back to Bilbo’s home I found him sound asleep on the lounge couch, and Frodo not in the room. 

I shook Bilbo gently awake. He blinked sleepily, surprised as if he did not mean to sleep.

“Huh…? Oh, hallo Gandalf…Where’d Frodo wander off to?” He asked, sleep clearing from his brown eyes.

I raised my eyebrows slowly. “Bilbo, I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Oh.”“When I got back, the door was ajar,” I murmured.

Bilbo swore. “Well, uh, I’ll search inside, and you search the garden, alright? Surely he couldn’t have gotten far!”

I nodded. “Let us hope.”

I strode out the home, and started poking under bushes and around shrubs and flowers, but to no avail.

Bilbo came out a few minutes later, chewing on his lip. “I…he’s not in there. He’s not out here either, huh?” His voice was strained.

I didn’t have the heart to do anything but shake my head slowly.

“Well, we’ll have to split up, I’ll-I’ll take the right path, you take the left, and we-we meet up on market road?” He rambled, nervously adjusting his shirt.

“I’ll find you there,” I agreed, and swept off.

I had covered most of the way to the market road when I found Frodo. He seemed to have curled up in a dense shrub and fallen asleep before anyone saw him. He didn’t move and was quite pale. Only the rhythmic twitch of a leaf by his nose indicated he was breathing.

Nerves flared in my stomach as I crouched down and gently removed Frodo from his napping-place. He was chilly to the touch, but not dangerously so, and as I sat and scooped him into my lap, he slowly clenched one small hand on a fistful of my robes. I held my breath, but he did not stir further.

Slowly, taking care to not jostle him or his grip on me, I raised him up in my arms and cradled him, gazing as if transfixed upon his round, sleeping face. An awe was upon me as I took in the preciousness, the innate holiness of the child in my arms. I realized that, having spent some time with him, he had crept up behind me and curled into my very heart and soul, filling a void I did not know I had. In that moment, he was one of the dearest things in all of Arda.

A tear sprang in my eye as a thought came to me, unbidden. _Manwë, this must be fatherhood._

I gently pressed Frodo closer, into my chest, and I closed my eyes.

Words came to me, as if they had been in my soul for all of time, simply waiting for this moment to arrive.

“Manwë, Varda and Nienna, I beg you to let your graces and mercies to bless this child for as long as he might live. May I protect him in the hour of his greatest danger, whatever the cost to myself. This oath I do swear, to protect and defend this child, even if it means my own death.”

As soon as I finished speaking, a darkness fell behind my eyelids. I saw, suddenly, a harsh fire fire spring up in the gloom, heard the ghost of some unholy roar, felt a sudden, impending doom-

The prophecy passed as soon as it began, but I knew one thing: I would, someday, face fire and death for Frodo. I was comfortable with that fate.

I opened my eyes and let out a breath. I felt shaken. Probing Frodo gently with my eyes and mind, I knew he would escape the fate that would claim me without injury. I smiled slowly. My hands shook slightly.

I looked up sharply as I heard footsteps rounding the road towards me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had him?” Bilbo asked, approaching and gently setting a hand on his nephew’s forehead.

“Forgive me…” I began, before pausing. Was I to tell Bilbo I had just sworn my life away for his nephew? No. “…I was distracted,” I finished quietly, looking back down at Frodo.  
Bilbo nodded, understanding my excuse. Then, he reached up to the broach on his cloak and opened it, removing his cloak.

“Here, help me wrap him in this, it’s too chilly for him,” Bilbo said, holding it out. Dutifully, I did, placing the hobbitling into the waiting cloak and tucking it around him. Frodo smiled in his sleep. Bilbo and I locked eyes, and smiled, knowing the other’s heart.

Having Bilbo’s eyes, I searched myself to see if he was at risk from my fate, but I could not find him. _He is entirely removed from my death,_ I thought, _well, perhaps it is better he doesn’t know._

“Come, let’s get him home,” Bilbo said, stirring me from my thoughts.

“Of course,” I replied, standing up. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> To the person who recently commented on my other Gandalf+Frodo centric works: I hope you read and enjoyed this, you helped motivate me to finish this one up and I hope to write another piece soon :)


End file.
